


Rebel, Rebel

by cherryvanilla



Category: The Runaways (Band)
Genre: F/F, Making Out, Pining, References to David Bowie, Teenagers, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21619984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: In an ideal world free of complications, Joan would have a teenaged boyfriend and so would Cherie and never the twain shall meet.Except that Joan thought about girls way more than boys, and she thought specifically about Cherie more than both combined.
Relationships: Cherie Currie/Joan Jett
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Rebel, Rebel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RocknRoll1968](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknRoll1968/gifts).



> Set during their first tour in '76. Cherie is 16, Joan 17.

Cherie was young, was the thing. Cherie was young, naive and beautiful and even though Joan was only fourteen months older it felt like a ton more. Joan knew she should steer clear of anything beyond friendship, that Cherie didn’t need Joan’s particular brand of corruption. Hell, she’d probably been corrupted already, being in this business, and Joan knew she shouldn't add to that. Regardless if Cherie liked girls or not. Which was still unclear. 

In an ideal world free of complications, Joan would have a teenaged boyfriend and so would Cherie and never the twain shall meet. 

Except that Joan thought about girls way more than boys, and she thought specifically about Cherie more than both combined.

So Joan pushed it down and away. She fooled around with Sandy, and ignored Lita’s snarky side comments about what kind of queer as fuck band she’d joined. 

Ignoring the way Cherie made her feel, however, was easier said than done. Cherie was a force of nature. She danced up near Joan on stage, she gave her these _looks_ that made Joan’s teeth ache. She was innocent and deadly all at once, and Joan could hardly stop thinking about her.

It all changed in a hotel room. One night they were hanging out in Detroit prior to the show the next night. The other girls were out for the night, and it felt nice to just get some solo time with Cherie. Cherie came out of the bathroom holding a case. 

“Let’s do Ziggy makeup!” 

Joan laughed. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah, seriously.” She plotted on the bed and opened the makeup case. “I did it for my talent show. Bet you’d look hot.” 

“You’re such a Bowie groupie,” Joan replied, shaking her head. 

“Like you’re not,” Cherie snorted. 

Joan laughed again, watching Cherie pull some stuff out. 

“You do me and I’ll do you,” Cherie whispered. She suddenly was way too close, sitting pretzel style across from Joan at the end of the bed. 

“Okay,” Joan replied, her throat dry. 

Cherie went first. Her fingers were careful as they held Joan’s face steady, fingers curved around her jaw. 

“This looks so rad,” she whispered. 

Joan’s eyes fell shut and she licked her lips. “Cool.”

“You’ve got great skin.” Cherie said the words clinically, easy. Joan’s fingers made a fist against the comforter. 

“Thanks.” 

She was breathing a little harder by the time Cherie was done and holding up a mirror. “Hot!” 

Joan laughed around numb lips. “Cool. Thanks, babe.” 

Cherie’s smile was wide and bright. She bounced on the mattress. “Kay, my turn!” 

It was easy to remember how young she was when Cherie’s playful side came out. On stage she was sex appeal and bad girl attitude. But in private, she was just a teenager who still slept with her favorite stuffed animal. Joan loved that the most about Cherie. Loved that she got to see the person behind the persona. 

Joan bit her lip and looked down at the different lipsticks and eyeshadows. “I’m not really good with shit like this.”

She wasn’t glam. She wasn’t _girlie_ like Cherie, or sexy like Lita. She didn’t really want to be. 

“C’mon, just imitate Ziggy. You know what it’s supposed to look like.” 

Joan sighed and picked up the blue eye shadow, putting some on the brush. 

She tried to do it without touching Cherie, and it worked at first. But then she needed a bit more leverage as she started in on the long bolt of orange. She found herself cupping Cherie’s jaw, mimicking what she’d done to Joan moments earlier. Cherie’s skin was soft beneath her fingers. Her breath was warm against Joan’s face. 

She felt Cherie shiver beneath her touch and stilled. 

“Cold,” Cherie whispered, voice trembling a little. 

Joan closed her eyes, breathed deeply, before concentrating again. She was staring into Cherie’s eyes, which had gone a little dark. 

“You smell good.” This time Cherie’s voice was anything but clinical. 

“Cherie…” but Joan never got to finish because she was being kissed. It was clumsy. It was the kiss of someone who’s barely been kissed. 

It was perfect. 

Joan threaded her free hand through Cherie’s hair and gripped her jaw a little tighter. She opened her mouth and Cherie’s tongue was there to meet her own immediately. They sighed into one another’s mouths, and then Cherie’s hands were everywhere. On Joan’s face, messing up her handiwork. On Joan’s arms, sliding up beneath her the sleeves of her t-shirt. On Joan’s… 

“Oh, god.”

They fell backwards onto the bed, Joan’s head nearly hanging off it as Cherie’s palms fitted against her breasts, squeezing. 

“Fuck, you feel good.” Cherie’s mouth nipped at Joan’s lip and then down her jaw and neck. Joan wrapped her arms around Cherie’s back, stroking up and down as she pulled her closer. 

They made out for an eternity. It was wet and hot, their faces smeared with makeup, the comforter ruined between them in a cascade of orange and blue. 

“We shouldn’t,” Joan tried at one point. It was true. It could fuck up the band, especially because this wasn’t just sex for Joan. 

“Shut up,” Cherie replied, and Joan wanted to keep kissing her more than she wanted to be responsible. 

They didn’t go far. Just heavy petting and one intoxicating feel of Cherie’s hand on her bare breast, slipping beneath her bra and teasing her nipple. 

They kissed until their lips felt sore and their chests were heaving. 

“You’re so great,” Cherie said a little later, her voice young and dreamy. She rested her head against Joan’s, the two of them having scooted up toward the pillows. They held one another loosely and it felt good, right. 

“So are you,” Joan whispered back. She traced patterns on Cherie’s bicep, her clavicle. “Let’s not screw this up, huh? Let’s not become one of those bands they break up terribly with endless drama.” 

Cherie laughs “Silly rabbit.” She pressed a kiss to Joan’s shoulder. “We won’t. We won’t ever break up.”

Joan knew she meant the band but also wondered about _them_. What this meant for them. Were they together now? Was it just fooling around? 

The reasons to not do this began to swell up in Joan’s mind again, but she pushed them down just as she’d originally one with her feelings for Cherie. 

They were young. They were on tour. They had the world in their goddamn hands, and maybe, just maybe, they could have this too. 

Joan tucked her head into the curve of Cherie’s neck and smiled. 

“Yeah. We’ll be fine.”

End.


End file.
